Johnny Rocket
by Drakoleses
Summary: ideas on a thirteen year old Rocket-child who rallies up a gang of children who will eventually become what is today known as Team Rocket. This is my version on how it all began in the slums of Goldenrod City. Protagonist: Giovanni Rocket, aka Johnny.


**I do not own Pokémon.**

**With Thunderous Applause…**

In the slums of Goldenrod, was a run-down, one-roomed, sorry excuse for a schoolhouse, built only because it was mandatory for the city of Goldenrod to have one. It was rare if anyone ever entered because they truly wanted to. The children attended only because it was mandatory that all children in Johto learn basic reading, writing, and arithmetic before they were given their trainer's licenses. The teacher only taught because he was getting paid a salary for doing so, a meager one, but it was money all the same.

So it came to pass in those days that all of Goldenrod's youth dropped out of school at the tender age of ten, went out to earn a trainer's living, and grew up to be the most ignorant teenagers. Birth-control? Feminine products? RENT?! Food costs money?! These were some of the common questions that were asked by pre-teens and teens across Johto.

So it was very rare that the school in Goldenrod would ever have a thirteen-year-old enrolled. And it was most certainly rare that the school would have an _intelligent _thirteen-year-old enrolled. But it did.

The children at ages nine and under who attended the school regarded the Intelligent One with much apprehension. Perhaps it was because they knew deep down inside that he _shouldn't _be there or maybe it was because they were afraid of him. After all, even the schoolmaster feared him because, as you all know, people often fear what they do not understand. The illiterate pre-teens who failed their trainers' exams also feared him for the same reason. And so they became part of his gang, simply because they were too stupid and afraid to do anything else.

The intelligent thirteen-year-old was called Johnny Rocket. His skin was a light-olive color, his dark brown hair was always slicked back, and on his tall, scrawny frame were threadbare rags that passed for clothing. Why he did not leave the school, know one knew. He could've taken his trainer's exam at any time and aced it. His academic knowledge surpassed that of the self-proclaimed schoolmaster. He did not pay attention to the schoolmaster's vain lectures to the Non-Intelligent Ones. Instead, he would have an open book in one hand and a pokéball in the other. He would toss the pokéball in the air, catch it, and repeat the process all the while reading his book whose title would be something like _The Study of Geology, _or _Rare Pokémon and Where to Find Them. _

The schoolmaster had had enough of this Johnny Rocket. He wanted the insolent boy to take his exam, receive his license, and never darken the school's doorstep ever again. _Arrogant boy, always toying with that pokéball, always reading those damned books! As if he thinks he's better than me! _The schoolmaster thought. _I can't speak to that mother of his; she insists that keeping him in school will keep him out of her business! Bullocks! He should be out on the streets, training pokémon, not sitting here in my classroom making me look like a buffoon! _

Suddenly, a wonderful revelation came to him. _I'll force him to take his test, yes; that's what I'll do! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner! _And so the schoolmaster hatched a plan.

About a week after the schoolmaster had conjured up his brilliant plan, he concluded that it was time to put it into effect. He waltzed into the sorry schoolhouse with an almost-cheery expression on his face that vanished immediately after catching sight of the thirteen-year-old boy Rocket and the band of pre-teens than surrounded him.

"All right, you sons-of- eh… Everyone sit down and shut up!!" He ordered. "Today we are going to take a _practice _trainer exam. Just a _practice_, mind you. Not the real thing. Just a _practice_ to see how you'd all do on a real one. I'll pass out the exam, err, I mean _practice_ and step outside for a little while."

The schoolmaster exited the room after administering the exam and headed towards the nearest pub, confident that he'd found the means to get rid of Johnny Rocket at last.

Meanwhile in the schoolhouse, all the children were passing the exam with flying colors. Johnny Rocket was no fool. He knew that he would be in this situation eventually and so he and his gang had planned accordingly. They all cheated, and Johnny gave them all enough answers to pass. But no two children had the exact same answers on their score sheets.

Where one child marked an A the child beside him marked a D and so forth until all children were passing the same exam but not by the same questions. Even the scores were different. Johnny made a near-perfect score. It would never do to mark all correct answers; if he did the plan would fail. The child beside Johnny passed by a bare minimum. It was beautiful.

When the schoolmaster staggered into the schoolhouse a few hours later he laughed merrily as he took up the exams. "All right, you sons-of-whatchamacallits" he addressed them. "The exam you just took was a real one. Goodbye Johnny! You passed. Go get your license!"

Johnny simply raised his hand all the while smiling a grin that was supposed to be taken for politeness. The effect of the grin was haughty and dripped fake innocence. The schoolmaster glowered.

"Sir, do you mean to tell us that you administered an actual trainers' exam to us under false pretenses?" Johnny asked with feigning shock. "Because I could swear that you told us that this would simply be a, what was that word? A _practice_?" His voice held traces of laughter but it was a mocking, surely laughter. The laughter of an uppity brat, yes, but the schoolmaster would better describe it as the laughter of a demon, if there were such things. It was cold and merry, and it sent chills down the schoolmaster's spine.

So the schoolmaster snapped back through gritted teeth, "It was a real exam, yes. But don't worry!" he added quickly, imagining that the blank stares of the children were actually expressions of shock. He continued, "It will only count for _those of you who passed_", said staring meaningfully at Johnny. "_Those of you who passed_ will receive your trainers' licenses and then you'll never have to come here again!"

"And when, sir, do you plan to have the exams graded by? Will we know our scores within the week? The day? _This very hour?_" asked Johnny, all the while smiling.

The schoolmaster narrowed his eyes. "I will get started immediately, Mister Rocket" And so he did. The Non-Intelligent Ones all sat in their seats quietly anticipating the outburst by the schoolmaster that was sure to come. They all stared questioningly at one another, but they mostly stared hopefully at Johnny.

_Is he going to pass all of us? Is this going to work? How much trouble are we going to be in? _All of these unasked questions did not go unnoticed. Johnny simply shook his head every time a questioning gaze met his own self-assured one. But he too became nervous.

Within the first ten minutes of grading score sheets the schoolmaster knew something was not quite right. _Billy scored eighty percent? Billy can't even read! _But he shook it off telling himself, _I guess I taught him better than I thought I did… _Later he came to Johnny's score sheet. _He scored a ninety? Johnny doesn't make nineties… _Then another child's score. _Seventy-two? _And then it dawned on the slow-witted buffoon that all of his students were passing so far. He quickly scanned the remaining score sheets. _Passed. Every. Last. One. Passed._

The schoolmaster wasn't sure what to think. Conspiracy! But how? No two scores were alike… There was no way to prove that cheating had commenced. And what was he to say to the board of education? That he had administered the most important exam in the country and then left the students unattended to go drinking?

"What are you playing at, Johnny?" he asked, hoping that he could convince the brat to just leave.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what—

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! How. Could. Every. Last. One. Of. You. PASS?!!!"

Johnny smiled the terrifying smile of a circus clown before replying, "You taught us well, sir. If we all passed then I suppose that means we _all_ get our licenses, doesn't it, sir? That _is_ what you said?"

Suddenly, Johnny's motives became clear to the schoolmaster, or at least partially. _He wants them all to go with him! He wants his dumb-ass friends to get their licenses too! _And so the schoolmaster saw his opportunity to rid his school from the likes of that odd Rocket boy and his books, and schemes, and intelligence.

"Yes, that is what I said, Johnny. Congratulations, you sons-of- eh, I mean, dumb-, uhh, _children. _You all passed so I will just sign your scores and you will all get your photographs taken tomorrow and then you'll have to fill out the proper paperwork and…", he trailed off.

"Aw, fuck it! We have time to do it today! I'm not walking into this school tomorrow morning to see your ugly ars--, uh, your smiling faces! Someone get a damn camera!"

And so after a few phone calls later, the proper paperwork was filled out, the mug shots were taken, and trainers' licenses were issued in record time to all students of all ages whether they were ten years old or not. When the final bell rang the schoolmaster no longer had a class to teach. The little brats were all someone else's problem now.

More specifically, they became Johnny's problem. After they all received their licenses Johnny lead them through the back alleys of Goldenrod to the Underground. Once deep into the Underground he addressed his charges.

"I gave you all answers. I gave you your licenses. Remember that. I gave them to you easily and I can take them away just as easily. You are Rockets now and Rockets do whatever I tell them. Got it?" His gaze followed each face staring back at him. "Now first thing's first. We need pokémon. Why? Can anyone tell me why we need pokémon?"

Everyone regarded him with looks of stupidity. A small boy of about seven piped up, "Because we're trainers!" A few snickers followed this comment but Johnny silenced them with a single menacing glare.

"Yes," he agreed absently, "We are trainers. And trainers need pokémon. But what are pokémon used for? Can anyone answer me that?"

Another awkward silence followed until a young lass of about nine or ten answered, "Pokémon are used for fighting."

Johnny's smile widened. "Yes, pokémon _are _used for fighting. But why do they fight? Someone answer me!"

"Because we tell them to!" shouted a lanky boy with a smudge of dirt on his face. The others cheered at this bold comment.

"And why", asked Johnny while silencing the crowd with a wave of his delicate hand, "do we tell them to fight?"

No one answered him. After a long, awkward silence and the shuffling of small feet Johnny asked another question, this one more softly. "You," he pointed to the boy with a dirt smudge on his face, "What would you like more than anything else in the world?"

The boy thought a minute before answering. When he did he lifted his head high and boldly stated, "I would like a new, shiny, red bicycle like they got at that bike shop in Cerulean, sir."

Johnny smiled wide and outstretched his hands and repeated, "A shiny, red bicycle… A good answer. All young boys want a shiny, red bicycle, don't they?" he chuckled. Several voices echoed in agreement.

"What is your name?" questioned Johnny to the lanky boy with the smudge on his face.

"My name's Ridel, sir. Just Ridel," The boy answered lamely while looking up at the taller boy.

"Ridel, why don't you have a shiny, red bicycle?" asked Johnny with all the sincerity in his heart.

"Because I don't got no money for a shiny, red bicycle, sir," replied Ridel, "I don't got no money…"

At this Johnny bowed his head solemnly and took a deep breath. "Money, Ridel. Money, everyone. That's why trainers tell their pokémon to fight. Because if they win, the trainer receives some of his opponent's money. And then once the trainer saves up enough money, he can buy his own shiny, red, bicycle…"

"And anything else he wants," he added, "We need pokémon because we need money, Rockets! We need pokémon, strong pokémon, to fight for money and rare pokémon that we can exchange for money! That is our goal!" his voice became stronger with every word, his voice sounding giddy with madness in every syllable…

Now the others began to chant along with him, "Money, pokémon , money, bicycles, money, money, money, pokémon!"

"And how do we catch pokémon, Rockets?!" thundered the crazed leader.

"With pokéballs!" cried his followers.

"And where are pokéballs kept, Rockets?!!!" he bellowed.

"At the pokémart!!!" they screamed in unison.

"THEN LET'S GO TO THE POKEMART AND STEAL SOME!!!!" Johnny screamed a bloodthirsty scream that was echoed by his Rockets. "LET'S GO TO THE POKEMART, TAKE THE POKEBALLS AND CAPTURE ALL THE POKEMON WE WAAANT!!!!!!!!"

"YESSS!!!!"

Thus, how Johnny Rocket's reign began. With thunderous applause…


End file.
